


the passion put to use

by orphan_account



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Possibly the fluffiest thing I've ever written, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, with absolutely no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 04:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17780201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Eventually, she finds the tin of ginger stem biscuits she’d been looking for hidden behind china jars of aniseed and arsenic but she’s barely taken a bite out of one before something permeates her slightly inebriated senses. It takes Hilda a second to realise she can feel eyes on the back of her head and she wheels around feeling inexplicably guilty about being caught with her hand in a non-metaphorical cookie jar.





	the passion put to use

**Author's Note:**

> It's a genuine coincidence that I'm posting this on Valentine's Day but if the shoe fits.

  
It's not unusual for Hilda to be standing here, rooting through the kitchen cupboards after midnight. She'd gone to bed more than an hour ago, (leaving Zelda and Ambrose in the parlour to get steadily drunker and drunker and finish an argument about de Sade of which Hilda had long since lost the thread) but the bottle of rather nice wine that’s currently swilling around her stomach had been begging for something to soak it up. Eventually, she finds the tin of ginger stem biscuits she’d been looking for hidden behind china jars of aniseed and arsenic but she’s barely taken a bite out of one before something permeates her slightly inebriated senses. It takes Hilda a second to realise she can feel eyes on the back of her head and she wheels around feeling inexplicably guilty about being caught with her hand in a non-metaphorical cookie jar.

  
Guilt, however, is the last thing on her mind when she locks eyes with her older sister. Hilda had thought she needed sweets to soothe her cravings but nothing she’s made in her lifetime has ever looked half as delicious as Zelda does. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her lipstick has started to rub away a little at the edges and her perfect coiffure has come undone. Hilda can picture Zelda running her hands through it in agitation as she squabbled with their nephew, eyes shining with sheer determination to prove herself right, and suddenly finds herself hungrier for something far more substantial than a cookie.

  
‘What have we here? A naughty little witch who should be in bed, I think.’ Zelda’s voice is sweeter than sugar, thicker than molasses. Hilda doesn’t think she’s seen her sister like this in months, years even; it’s not uncommon for Zelda to hit the bottle this hard but when she does, she’s far more likely to get increasingly cruel and sarcastic rather than playful and affectionate. The nasty, hostile side of Zelda is just as prone to fucking Hilda as the nice but if the younger Spellman sister got to choose, she’d plump for this teasing, smiling version of Zelda every time.

  
‘I was just getting something to eat' she says through a mouthful of crumbs, brandishing the remains of the biscuit in question at her sister. Unexpectedly, Zelda lunges forward and grabs the sweet treat out of Hilda’s hand, sinks her teeth into it before licking her lips in what Hilda is sure is a deliberately exaggerated fashion. ‘Hey, that's mine!’  
Zelda raises her eyebrows, takes another tiny bite that’s quite obviously not motivated by an empty stomach.

  
‘If you want it...’ green eyes are glinting in the low light of the kitchen and if Hilda has a sneaking suspicion that Zelda has something else she’s intending to snack on, she really can’t bring herself to mind. ‘Come and get it.’  
Hilda does want it, as it happens. Not the biscuit itself, obviously. The long, clever fingers holding the biscuit. The mouth that presumably now tastes like ginger. So, when Zelda darts away, lithe and unreasonably limber, Hilda doesn’t have to think before following the sound of Zelda’s footsteps up the stairs.

  
She has to hand it to her; Zelda really knows how to set a scene. She’d barely gotten through their bedroom door ten seconds before Hilda, and yet has still managed to artfully arrange herself to her best advantage on Hilda’s bed; she looks for all the world like one of Moreau’s seedier paintings, despite being fully dressed and still having that ridiculous half-eaten cookie in her hand, and Hilda finds herself breathless from more than just running up the stairs.

  
‘Do I get my biscuit back now?’ Hilda is a little bit wobbly on her feet as she pads over to join her sister and tells herself that she just isn’t used to drinking so much. As she perches on the end of the bed, not wanting Zelda to move and spoil the tableau, she expects her sister to take another teasing bite, hold the sweet treat out of Hilda’s reach. Instead, one hand reaches up to her face and soft fingers hold it to her mouth. Obediently, Hilda opens, chews, swallows and (somewhat less obediently) bites down rather hard on the pad of Zelda’s index finger. It earns her a hiss and she can hear the slide of silk on cotton as her sister’s hips shift and she slowly slides the digit back out through Hilda’s parted lips.

  
‘We have a problem, Hildegarde...’ for a second, Hilda’s stomach lurches. There’s always a distinct possibility that Zelda is going to withdraw, retreat back to her own bed and shut Hilda out, metaphorically and quite possibly literally. It wouldn’t be the first time Hilda had had to sleep in one of their draughty spare rooms because Zelda had decided, for reasons known only to her and Satan, to spoil both their fun and blame Hilda for... Well, Hilda doesn’t really know what for. For existing, possibly. But she feels the mattress shift and the heat of Zelda’s unreasonably warm body envelope her from the back, and when she glances up at her sister’s face, it’s still predatorily amorous.

  
‘And what would that be?’ she murmurs, one hand coming up to luxuriate in the softness of Zelda’s hair. Even though it’s already messy, Hilda normally wouldn’t dare to rumple it any further; it’s only like this that she doesn’t have to worry about the consequences of running her hands over her sister’s scalp, making Zelda’s golden locks fall to her shoulders. Instead of invoking a harsh glare or a sharp pinch to the wrist, Zelda’s eyes fall closed and when they lazily blink open again, they’re dark and heavy with lust that Hilda is sure must be mirrored in her own.

  
‘I’m still hungry’ is Zelda’s purring response, mouth hot against Hilda’s neck as she begins a campaign of destruction on the unmarred skin there. Hilda moans, can’t help it, and matters aren’t helped when Zelda’s sharp little teeth sink into her collarbone.

  
‘I might have a suggestion’ her hand fists into Zelda’s hair; not hard enough to really hurt, not tonight, but with enough force to make her sister gasp. Zelda tips her head back, arching away from Hilda's neck and into the touch of her hand and humming with pleasure when Hilda tugs. The real honesty of Zelda's pleasure when they're together like this will never fail to be the very best thing Hilda has ever experienced. Ordinarily, her sister puts an inexplicable amount of time and effort into masking where she takes her pleasure or, even worse, pretending that she derives it from sources that Hilda is fairly certain actually leave her cold. So being the one to make pretty moans and desperate sighs fall from those lips, seeing Zelda’s chest heave and back arch, watching her brow furrow and her mouth fall open- it's practically as good as receiving physical pleasure herself.

  
When she pulls Zelda to her, her sister's mouth does indeed taste like ginger. There's booze there too and Hilda's tongue tells her that she must have moved on to the hard stuff after Hilda had slipped away. Hilda has always been far more easily intoxicated than her older sister, in more ways than one; when she pulls backwards, rendered dizzy by Zelda's hot, sweet mouth, Zelda chases after her, evidently eager for more.

  
‘Still hungry?’ Hilda has to admit to liking what kissing Zelda does to her. Her voice sounds lower and rougher, not its usual bright and squeaky self, and she's sure that if she could tear her eyes from Zelda to look over in the mirror, she'd see a red-lipped, dark-eyed, debauched Hilda staring back at her. She might rub off some of Zelda's sharp edges but in return, Hilda think she's instilled with a little of her sister's bite. They meld together and it makes Hilda's chest ache.

  
‘Starved' if Hilda was titillated by the roughness of her own voice, it's nothing to how she feels when she hears Zelda's whisper, her sister's cheek soft against Hilda's chest when she ducks her head to lick a teasing stripe over ample cleavage. Busy hands set to work tugging up Hilda's nightdress and Zelda seems far too set on her course for Hilda to be even slightly inclined to stop her.

  
‘Off' Zelda demands, gesturing for Hilda to lift her arms up and despite the very present ache between her thighs, Hilda laughs as she does as she's told.

  
‘Are we only communicating in monosyllables now?’

  
‘If you must know, I'm trying to save my strength for other activities' Zelda flings the patterned turquoise fabric far across the other side of the room and only raises an arch eyebrow when Hilda frowns ‘What? You know how I feel about you buying ready-to-wear, sister, I can't be expected to have my hands on polyester long enough to fold it. And as to your earlier enquiry...’ her voice drops again as she fixes her eyes on Hilda's tits with a hungry look that seems to elevate the bedroom’s temperature quite dramatically ‘If you require it, Hilda, I'm sure I can be far, _far_ more verbose.’

  
This is something Hilda knows to be true; Zelda likes the sound of her own voice at the best of times but when she's wet and wanting, she can go on uninterrupted for hours, talking filthy enough to put the naughtiest of Hilda's favourite books to shame. It's getting her to shut up that can be the real problem.

  
‘I can think of a better use for your mouth, actually' Hilda says and the way Zelda's eyes light up is enough to send a shockwave through her. Practically before Hilda has finished speaking, Zelda has slunk down to the end of the bed and is poised there like a particularly ravenous feline, ready to pounce.  
True to character, Zelda doesn't waste any time. Hilda has barely parted her legs before Zelda is between them, hot mouth on bare thigh and sharp nails grasping into plump flesh.

Although she doesn't really have much of a bar to measure it against, she knows that Zelda is very, very good at this. So good that it takes an awful lot of concentration for Hilda to remember to breathe. She couldn't begin to count how many times Zelda has buried her face in her cunt but every time, Hilda worries just a little that this might be a slightly less time-efficient but ultimately just as fatal method of sending her on a trip to the Cain Pit. It's almost like she's having an out-of-body experience, watching herself get eaten out by that beautiful golden head from afar, if it weren't for the fact that she can still feel hot tendrils of pleasure spiking in her stomach. She's all wet cunt and immodest moans and grasping hands and it would be embarrassing if it weren't so bloody perfect. Zelda's tongue is as wicked as the rest of her, pressing flat up against Hilda's clit and then dipping down, taking her sweet time lapping at Hilda like the younger witch is her last supper pre-crucifixion. A thrill runs down Hilda's spine and all the way to the tips of her toes as she wonders what Zelda would do if she knew that her superlative cunnilingual skills were inspiring such heretical comparisons; she's fairly sure it would be a damn sight less pleasant than her current pursuit.

  
Almost as if she's sensed Hilda's vague blasphemies and is intent on stamping them out, Zelda sets to her task with renewed vigour. It's a virtuoso performance, really, the way she ghosts her teeth over Hilda's clit, sucks it into her mouth while two fingers thrust busily in and out of Hilda's shockingly wet entrance to elicit a cacophony of unrestrained groans and sighs. When she pauses, breathing almost as heavily as Hilda herself, Hilda only has a moment to notice how slick her chin is, how wild her eyes are before her sister plunges back in again, seemingly intent on making her moan loudly enough to wake the corpses littering the garden outside. Zelda has always been very goal-oriented.

  
More often than not, the clichéd fumblings in Hilda's romance novels bear no more relation to actual sex than The Exorcist does to actual demonic possession but right now, she knows exactly what the simpering protagonists mean when they talk about their toes curling. Zelda is pure determination, licking and sucking like her life depends on it. The room is filled with the indecent sounds of wet flesh, Hilda's stuttering moans and Zelda's tiny muffled groans. It's gorgeous and Hilda can feel the build-up of delicious pressure mounting gradually in her stomach but Zelda stops, shifts, hoists Hilda's right leg over her shoulder and really, really gets to work. She's ruthless, frenzied, focusing in on Hilda's swollen, aching clit and giving her absolutely no quarter until Hilda's back is arching to an angle she didn't know it could reach and she's fairly certain she's about to rip a fistful of hair out of Zelda's scalp and she's coming so hard that her nails actually tear through the bedsheets.

  
When Hilda's cunt has finally stopped pulsing and not a single second before, Zelda leans back, wipes her mouth ostentatiously with the back of her hand and gives Hilda a practically feral smile that once again puts the younger witch's heart in severe danger of stopping.

  
‘You know, this doesn't excuse you stealing my snacks' she says breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Zelda. Her sister looks like she's the one who's just been thoroughly, indecently fucked, her makeup smudged and cheeks bright pink.

  
‘No? Then tell me, Hilda, how can I better serve my penance?’ as quick as a flash, Zelda pounces forward, pinning Hilda to the mattress like a cat playing with its food. She looks ravenous, almost frighteningly predatory but when Hilda reaches up to bring their lips together, her sister's kiss is surprisingly sweet.

 

 


End file.
